In Scandal They Wed
Page 27
You don’t lie to those you love.
A simple enough tenet.
She could only pray he understood and did not judge her too harshly . . . that he did not toss her into the same category as his father.
After ordering Evie’s bath and dinner tray, Spencer set out in pursuit of another matter that required his attention. After several knocks on Adara’s door, he opened it and stepped into an empty bedchamber. Not so surprising.
Smiling grimly, he moved down the corridor and proceeded to beat on the bedchambers of each of her companions. Turning the latches, he flung doors open, heedless to shouts of outrage.
Very few of Adara’s guests slept alone. They stumbled from their rooms with words of indignation, hastily knotting their robes. He found Adara in the last chamber. In Gresham’s bed.
“Spencer!” she cried, wrapping a coverlet about her ample curves. “It’s not what you think!”
He arched a brow. “I have eyes, Adara. Your mistake is in thinking I care.”
Gresham visibly relaxed at his declaration. He even had the temerity to wink. “Your brother never bothered to care either—”
“I’m sure,” Spencer drawled, imagining that his amoral brother had been too busy chasing the skirts of other women to care who diddled his wife. He issued a fervent prayer of thanks that Evie was nothing like these people, that she knew nothing of the ton‘s sordid practices. Like him, she likely had no wish to frequent the drawing rooms of London’s High Society.
“Spencer, listen to me. I made a mistake when I chose Cullen over you. I’m sorry I lied and said I would run away with you. I was young. Don’t punish me for one bad decision. I’ve suffered enough. The way Cullen died—” She shuddered. “It was mortifying.”
He sighed. “I’m not punishing you. I simply don’t care.”
Rising from the bed, she latched onto his arm. “You cannot mean—”
“You’re my sister-in-law, Adara. Nothing more. I’ll see to your needs until you’ve remarried. Something I suggest you do with all haste.” He narrowed his gaze on her.
Hurt flashed across her face. She quivered her lips. “You wish me to marry another man?”
“I expect the banns posted within the fortnight. Mind you, I’ll bestow a handsome settlement on you.” He shot Gresham a significant look. “Something to consider, Gresham, if you’re so fond of bedding her.”
“Quite so,” he murmured.
Adara glared between them. “As if I would marry a mere mister.”
The crowd that had gathered near the door tittered at this slight.
Gresham’s face flushed. “Good enough to tup, just not wed, is that it? And I suppose a woman that’s serviced half the ton can expect better? You’ll be fortunate indeed to attract a husband half as understanding or forgiving.”
The crowd tittered again.
A female muttered, “This is the best house party I’ve ever attended!”
Weary of the lot of them and eager to return to Evie, Spencer snapped, “Until you wed, you’ll only be granted the most meager of allowance. Perhaps that will change your mind.”
“Allowance?” She pressed a hand to the swell of her cl**vage above the coverlet.
“Yes,” he said tightly, leaning his face close. “And rest assured, that will vanish in a heartbeat if you ever”—his voice dipped darkly—”harm Evie again. The streets would be too good for you.”
“Evie!” she screeched, bouncing with rage. “This is all because of that little drudge?”
“Wife,” he inserted, teeth clenched. “Have a care, Adara. Evie is my wife.”
“Indeed.” She narrowed her eyes to slits. “You daft fool,” she snarled. “You’ve fallen in love with her.”
Spencer pressed his lips shut . . . letting the words sink in, settling deeply inside himself. Surprisingly, he felt no impulse to deny them. “Perhaps,” he allowed.
“Bastard! How dare you prefer her to me?” She charged him, fingers curled to strike.
He caught her wrist, speaking calmly, flatly. “How could I not? I want you gone. Pack your things.” He swept his gaze over Gresham and the rest of Adara’s friends gawking from the doorway. “All of you.”
“Tonight?” Gresham demanded. “Not very hospitable of you, Winters.”
“Nor have any of you been very gracious to my wife, your hostess. Now get out. You’re not welcome here.”
Gresham ducked his head. Looking a bit shame-faced, he nodded.
Spencer flung Adara from him. “I will look for your announcement in the Times. Don’t thwart me on this. You won’t find me a forgiving man.”
Adara stumbled to the bed and dropped down, her small frame sagging with defeat in a very affected pose. The sight did nothing to move him.
In that moment, Spencer felt spared, relieved. Well and truly saved from the miserable fate that would have been his had he married her all those years ago. He sent forth a small prayer of thanks to Cullen for stealing her away.
Gresham patted her bare shoulder. “Come along, Adara. Let’s pack.”
She ignored him. Her eyes glittered across the shadowy room at Spencer. “You’re a damn fool. A fool! You think you love her? You think she loves you?” she sneered.
He held himself still, watching her, listening. He knew he shouldn’t. Knew he should turn away, but he couldn’t. He watched, transfixed as she blasted him with her venom.
“Wait and see. Your perfect bride will break your heart. I see it in her. She’s the same as everyone else. Out for herself. She doesn’t really care about you. Why do you think she married you?” Her pretty lips twisted. “Do you even know each other?” She laughed cruelly. “You’re nothing but a title to her. Wealth and security. Not a man! Not anyone she would ever care for!”
“You’re wrong.” He shook his head slowly. “Your mistake is in thinking Evie is anything like you.”
With that parting comment, he turned and left the room, ignoring the ring of her words in his ears, the uneasy feeling they left in his gut.
She was wrong.
He wasn’t a fool to permit affection for his wife into his heart. He wasn’t a fool to think she might return his affection. She was different. Good and sincere. Why not let himself care for her?
A dark voice whispered across his mind. Because she’s Ian’s Linnie.
He shook his head. Not anymore. She was his now. His Evie. It wasn’t a mistake to let hope creep in . . . hope for a marriage based on something more than duty and convenience. Hope for them both.
Chapter 23
Evie woke to warm lips on her neck, her throat, her breast. Opening her eyes, she smiled and laced her fingers through Spencer’s thick hair. A predawn gray crept between the damask drapes.
“Hmm, good morning,” she murmured, then frowned. “I tried to wait up for you last night. Why didn’t you wake me when you came to bed?”
She remembered little after her bath and meal save climbing into his bed. Apparently, replete with food and relaxed from her bath, her body’s exhaustion had overcome her.
“You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.” He kissed a spot directly beneath her ear and she shivered. “I decided this could wait for morning.”
She surveyed the broad, n**ed chest spread above her. “It’s morning now,” she murmured, secretly awed at the wanton she had become.
He grinned. “I’m aware. I waited this long before waking you.” He pulled back slightly to gaze down at her. Even in the shadowy room, his intense gaze penetrated her. He fingered the modest neckline of her nightrail. “I’m going to burn this. All your nightrails.”
“What will I wear then?” she teased.
A wicked gleam entered his eyes. “The sheerest, smallest satins and laces.” His finger slipped inside the high neckline. “More like handkerchiefs, really. They’ll cover your most delectable parts for all of five seconds before I remove them with my teeth.”
She couldn’t help herself. She tossed back her head and laughed. “My, my, you are wicked.”
When she looked at him again, he wasn’t smiling. He simply stared at her, somber and brooding.
Her laughter faded. “What?”
“I’ve never seen you like this.”
Her chest felt tight, the air frozen in her lungs. “Like how?”
“So easy to be with, so . . . happy and free. I like it when you laugh. When you’re not fighting me.”
Her chest felt tight, impossibly small. “Me, too.” And she suspected he possessed the power to make her laugh often. To make her happy. If she permitted it.
He smiled then. A smile she had never seen on him before. A smile she felt echo through her. He brushed a strand of hair off her neck, his thumb remaining, lingering over the pulse at her throat as he looked at her in that intense way that melted her bones.
And she knew she had to confess everything to him. If she held any hope of building anything meaningful between them, anything true, she must. Somehow. Some way.
She opened her mouth to begin, unsure how to start.
He shifted, pressed his erection against the curve of her hip. The hungry look in his eyes stopped her. Heat pooled low in her belly. She shifted, rolled her thighs apart as much as her gown would allow, inviting him in.
Mouth flattened into a firm line, he reached down and dragged her nightrail up over her hips, her torso, her head. She shivered in the morning air. He came over her again, warming her with his n**ed body. His skin felt like satin stretched over solid muscle and sinew. Wherever she touched him he rippled and undulated. He made her feel small and delicate.
“Hope you didn’t have plans for the day.” His calves slid against hers, his coarse leg hair erotic and stimulating. Her insides quivered.
“Why?” she breathed.
“Because we’ll be doing this. All day and all night.”
“Can we do that?”
He chuckled and lowered his head, kissing her long and deep until she was gasping, clinging to his shoulders and urging him closer. His mouth dragged free from hers, burned a searing trail down her neck. “We can do anything we want.”
She sighed and arched against him. “Anything?”
“Everything.” He took her nipple in his mouth, sucking deeply. She cried out, arching more sharply against his warm tongue, clutching harder at his head. With each pull of his mouth on her breast, he created a deep pull inside her. A tight ache that throbbed between her legs.
“I’m never leaving this bed,” she moaned.
He chuckled, his warm breath fanning her wet nipple. “Not even tomorrow?” He flicked the tip with his tongue, tormenting her.
“What? Why?” she moaned, thrashing her head, beyond understanding as he danced his fingers up her thigh, brushing her wetness.
“We could do this in a carriage, couldn’t we?” He paused to blow over the tip of her wet, engorged nipple.
A carriage? She shook her head. “Why would we wish to when we have a bed?”
He closed his mouth over her other nipple, biting down lightly. She shrieked and grabbed his hair.
“I thought you might like to take a trip.”
“Where?” she panted, tugging him back to her breast.
“Little Billings.”
She blinked and propped herself up on her elbows. Her heart tripped at the crooked smile he wore. He really was too handsome. “You’re taking me home?”
“You miss your family, don’t you?”
She nodded mutely, overcome that he cared enough about her to grant her this. Her heart seized in her chest when he reached out to stroke her cheek. “I want you to be happy, Evie. I’ve sent Adara and her friends home. We can stay here or in Little Billings. Wherever. I’ve lived in a tent for years, so anything is an improvement.”
A simple enough tenet.
She could only pray he understood and did not judge her too harshly . . . that he did not toss her into the same category as his father.
After ordering Evie’s bath and dinner tray, Spencer set out in pursuit of another matter that required his attention. After several knocks on Adara’s door, he opened it and stepped into an empty bedchamber. Not so surprising.
Smiling grimly, he moved down the corridor and proceeded to beat on the bedchambers of each of her companions. Turning the latches, he flung doors open, heedless to shouts of outrage.
Very few of Adara’s guests slept alone. They stumbled from their rooms with words of indignation, hastily knotting their robes. He found Adara in the last chamber. In Gresham’s bed.
“Spencer!” she cried, wrapping a coverlet about her ample curves. “It’s not what you think!”
He arched a brow. “I have eyes, Adara. Your mistake is in thinking I care.”
Gresham visibly relaxed at his declaration. He even had the temerity to wink. “Your brother never bothered to care either—”
“I’m sure,” Spencer drawled, imagining that his amoral brother had been too busy chasing the skirts of other women to care who diddled his wife. He issued a fervent prayer of thanks that Evie was nothing like these people, that she knew nothing of the ton‘s sordid practices. Like him, she likely had no wish to frequent the drawing rooms of London’s High Society.
“Spencer, listen to me. I made a mistake when I chose Cullen over you. I’m sorry I lied and said I would run away with you. I was young. Don’t punish me for one bad decision. I’ve suffered enough. The way Cullen died—” She shuddered. “It was mortifying.”
He sighed. “I’m not punishing you. I simply don’t care.”
Rising from the bed, she latched onto his arm. “You cannot mean—”
“You’re my sister-in-law, Adara. Nothing more. I’ll see to your needs until you’ve remarried. Something I suggest you do with all haste.” He narrowed his gaze on her.
Hurt flashed across her face. She quivered her lips. “You wish me to marry another man?”
“I expect the banns posted within the fortnight. Mind you, I’ll bestow a handsome settlement on you.” He shot Gresham a significant look. “Something to consider, Gresham, if you’re so fond of bedding her.”
“Quite so,” he murmured.
Adara glared between them. “As if I would marry a mere mister.”
The crowd that had gathered near the door tittered at this slight.
Gresham’s face flushed. “Good enough to tup, just not wed, is that it? And I suppose a woman that’s serviced half the ton can expect better? You’ll be fortunate indeed to attract a husband half as understanding or forgiving.”
The crowd tittered again.
A female muttered, “This is the best house party I’ve ever attended!”
Weary of the lot of them and eager to return to Evie, Spencer snapped, “Until you wed, you’ll only be granted the most meager of allowance. Perhaps that will change your mind.”
“Allowance?” She pressed a hand to the swell of her cl**vage above the coverlet.
“Yes,” he said tightly, leaning his face close. “And rest assured, that will vanish in a heartbeat if you ever”—his voice dipped darkly—”harm Evie again. The streets would be too good for you.”
“Evie!” she screeched, bouncing with rage. “This is all because of that little drudge?”
“Wife,” he inserted, teeth clenched. “Have a care, Adara. Evie is my wife.”
“Indeed.” She narrowed her eyes to slits. “You daft fool,” she snarled. “You’ve fallen in love with her.”
Spencer pressed his lips shut . . . letting the words sink in, settling deeply inside himself. Surprisingly, he felt no impulse to deny them. “Perhaps,” he allowed.
“Bastard! How dare you prefer her to me?” She charged him, fingers curled to strike.
He caught her wrist, speaking calmly, flatly. “How could I not? I want you gone. Pack your things.” He swept his gaze over Gresham and the rest of Adara’s friends gawking from the doorway. “All of you.”
“Tonight?” Gresham demanded. “Not very hospitable of you, Winters.”
“Nor have any of you been very gracious to my wife, your hostess. Now get out. You’re not welcome here.”
Gresham ducked his head. Looking a bit shame-faced, he nodded.
Spencer flung Adara from him. “I will look for your announcement in the Times. Don’t thwart me on this. You won’t find me a forgiving man.”
Adara stumbled to the bed and dropped down, her small frame sagging with defeat in a very affected pose. The sight did nothing to move him.
In that moment, Spencer felt spared, relieved. Well and truly saved from the miserable fate that would have been his had he married her all those years ago. He sent forth a small prayer of thanks to Cullen for stealing her away.
Gresham patted her bare shoulder. “Come along, Adara. Let’s pack.”
She ignored him. Her eyes glittered across the shadowy room at Spencer. “You’re a damn fool. A fool! You think you love her? You think she loves you?” she sneered.
He held himself still, watching her, listening. He knew he shouldn’t. Knew he should turn away, but he couldn’t. He watched, transfixed as she blasted him with her venom.
“Wait and see. Your perfect bride will break your heart. I see it in her. She’s the same as everyone else. Out for herself. She doesn’t really care about you. Why do you think she married you?” Her pretty lips twisted. “Do you even know each other?” She laughed cruelly. “You’re nothing but a title to her. Wealth and security. Not a man! Not anyone she would ever care for!”
“You’re wrong.” He shook his head slowly. “Your mistake is in thinking Evie is anything like you.”
With that parting comment, he turned and left the room, ignoring the ring of her words in his ears, the uneasy feeling they left in his gut.
She was wrong.
He wasn’t a fool to permit affection for his wife into his heart. He wasn’t a fool to think she might return his affection. She was different. Good and sincere. Why not let himself care for her?
A dark voice whispered across his mind. Because she’s Ian’s Linnie.
He shook his head. Not anymore. She was his now. His Evie. It wasn’t a mistake to let hope creep in . . . hope for a marriage based on something more than duty and convenience. Hope for them both.
Chapter 23
Evie woke to warm lips on her neck, her throat, her breast. Opening her eyes, she smiled and laced her fingers through Spencer’s thick hair. A predawn gray crept between the damask drapes.
“Hmm, good morning,” she murmured, then frowned. “I tried to wait up for you last night. Why didn’t you wake me when you came to bed?”
She remembered little after her bath and meal save climbing into his bed. Apparently, replete with food and relaxed from her bath, her body’s exhaustion had overcome her.
“You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.” He kissed a spot directly beneath her ear and she shivered. “I decided this could wait for morning.”
She surveyed the broad, n**ed chest spread above her. “It’s morning now,” she murmured, secretly awed at the wanton she had become.
He grinned. “I’m aware. I waited this long before waking you.” He pulled back slightly to gaze down at her. Even in the shadowy room, his intense gaze penetrated her. He fingered the modest neckline of her nightrail. “I’m going to burn this. All your nightrails.”
“What will I wear then?” she teased.
A wicked gleam entered his eyes. “The sheerest, smallest satins and laces.” His finger slipped inside the high neckline. “More like handkerchiefs, really. They’ll cover your most delectable parts for all of five seconds before I remove them with my teeth.”
She couldn’t help herself. She tossed back her head and laughed. “My, my, you are wicked.”
When she looked at him again, he wasn’t smiling. He simply stared at her, somber and brooding.
Her laughter faded. “What?”
“I’ve never seen you like this.”
Her chest felt tight, the air frozen in her lungs. “Like how?”
“So easy to be with, so . . . happy and free. I like it when you laugh. When you’re not fighting me.”
Her chest felt tight, impossibly small. “Me, too.” And she suspected he possessed the power to make her laugh often. To make her happy. If she permitted it.
He smiled then. A smile she had never seen on him before. A smile she felt echo through her. He brushed a strand of hair off her neck, his thumb remaining, lingering over the pulse at her throat as he looked at her in that intense way that melted her bones.
And she knew she had to confess everything to him. If she held any hope of building anything meaningful between them, anything true, she must. Somehow. Some way.
She opened her mouth to begin, unsure how to start.
He shifted, pressed his erection against the curve of her hip. The hungry look in his eyes stopped her. Heat pooled low in her belly. She shifted, rolled her thighs apart as much as her gown would allow, inviting him in.
Mouth flattened into a firm line, he reached down and dragged her nightrail up over her hips, her torso, her head. She shivered in the morning air. He came over her again, warming her with his n**ed body. His skin felt like satin stretched over solid muscle and sinew. Wherever she touched him he rippled and undulated. He made her feel small and delicate.
“Hope you didn’t have plans for the day.” His calves slid against hers, his coarse leg hair erotic and stimulating. Her insides quivered.
“Why?” she breathed.
“Because we’ll be doing this. All day and all night.”
“Can we do that?”
He chuckled and lowered his head, kissing her long and deep until she was gasping, clinging to his shoulders and urging him closer. His mouth dragged free from hers, burned a searing trail down her neck. “We can do anything we want.”
She sighed and arched against him. “Anything?”
“Everything.” He took her nipple in his mouth, sucking deeply. She cried out, arching more sharply against his warm tongue, clutching harder at his head. With each pull of his mouth on her breast, he created a deep pull inside her. A tight ache that throbbed between her legs.
“I’m never leaving this bed,” she moaned.
He chuckled, his warm breath fanning her wet nipple. “Not even tomorrow?” He flicked the tip with his tongue, tormenting her.
“What? Why?” she moaned, thrashing her head, beyond understanding as he danced his fingers up her thigh, brushing her wetness.
“We could do this in a carriage, couldn’t we?” He paused to blow over the tip of her wet, engorged nipple.
A carriage? She shook her head. “Why would we wish to when we have a bed?”
He closed his mouth over her other nipple, biting down lightly. She shrieked and grabbed his hair.
“I thought you might like to take a trip.”
“Where?” she panted, tugging him back to her breast.
“Little Billings.”
She blinked and propped herself up on her elbows. Her heart tripped at the crooked smile he wore. He really was too handsome. “You’re taking me home?”
“You miss your family, don’t you?”
She nodded mutely, overcome that he cared enough about her to grant her this. Her heart seized in her chest when he reached out to stroke her cheek. “I want you to be happy, Evie. I’ve sent Adara and her friends home. We can stay here or in Little Billings. Wherever. I’ve lived in a tent for years, so anything is an improvement.”
